User blog comment:Brigadier Barty/Mossflower Country & Beyond/@comment-2246928-20140815192251

OOC: The sun shone bright over a lazy afternoon in late Summer, the Abbey gardens green with life and ripe with crisp fruit. At the center of the Abbey grounds, a contest was currently being held. Beasts were challenged to best one another in archery, racing, swimming, riddle-solving, and for the older beasts, wrestling and carpentry, as onlookers watched on from a long row of tables and benches set out for the occasion, feasting on the ripe plunders of their harvest and the drinking craft of the cellars. Abbot Birne, as was required for such occasions and festivities, was present, with many of his colleagues judging the competition.

Drogan Shipshape, Cellarhog at large, lumbered up and offered Birne a oak-mug filled to the brim with ale, chuckling as he watched a young squirrel easily outpace the others in a mad race for the far side of the grounds. "Filay may be an excellent chef, but sometimes I do think 'whirlwind' would be a more suitin' job for the lass."